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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24736621">Storm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity'>stateofintegrity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MASH (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:27:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>582</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24736621</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Why do storms bother Winchester so much?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnniKat/gifts">AnniKat</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The trees were a greenish-black against the wild white of the storm. The high wind sent the rain smashing down in erratic bursts. Thunder boomed and it had a clean violence to it, they thought, unlike the too familiar human sounds of artillery. The porthole window at the back of the ambulance was a labyrinth of downward-chasing droplets. </p><p>“This wasn’t a bad idea,” the Major said in spite of himself.</p><p>Cozied up against him beneath a blanket, Klinger chuckled. “Thanks, I think. You should take me up on the others.” </p><p>“You have received the only green light on offer for the night. Enjoy it.” </p><p>“That sounds like a challenge.” </p><p>“It is not, I assure you. I only agreed to this because I hate storms and it is such a small thing to make you happy.” </p><p>“If it’s so small, you could take me home to Boston. I wouldn’t take up much of your time.”</p><p>Charles ignored this because he couldn’t give the answer Klinger wanted. </p><p>“Why do you hate storms, Major?”</p><p><em> This </em>he could answer. “Two reasons. I witnessed a flash flood once. A dam broke. Many people died. I was interning with a hospital, but it was a country doctor who got me out of bed and took me to help. I can still smell the flood waters. I… I turned out to be little help. The people we found had drowned.” He didn’t tell Klinger about the lacey foam on their lips, or the bruises on their bodies from being knocked about in the same water as appliances, roofing, and even automobiles. </p><p>Klinger snuggled tighter against him. “I’m sorry, Major. That’s rough.” </p><p>“It was. That country doctor said it was good for me to be made helpless, to know the feeling and know it would come again.” He didn’t add that he was no better at dealing with the feeling now. “As for the second reason… My brother died when I was very young. That night, we had the worst storm I’ve ever known. For years, I believed the storm had taken him.” He smiled a slow, strange smile. Charles didn’t notice himself rubbing the Corporal’s back. “David was a better son than I. For years, I believed that storm was looking for me and had made a mistake.”</p><p>Klinger wrapped himself around him then, face buried in his neck. “I’m sorry, Major. But I’m glad you know better now.” </p><p>Usually he <em> did </em> know better - but he had moments, too, of doubt. As if he felt this, Klinger drew him down to the metal floor of their improvised bunker and held tight, offering his warmth - the solid realness of him - as a ward against past pain and loss. Charles knew that he should protest. He’d agreed to share the blanket, but he hadn’t said anything about <em> cuddling </em>. But Klinger felt good beneath him and he wasn’t asking for anything beyond his presence. </p><p>In fact, Klinger, it seemed, only wanted to give. Holding him, he said, “You can get me, you know. Anytime it storms.” </p><p>Charles shot him a teasing look. “You think impersonating an <em> umbrella </em>will secure your section 8?” </p><p>Klinger laughed. “A raincoat - I’m too stylish for an umbrella. Besides, I’ve hardly tried for a section 8 lately.”</p><p>“I’ve noticed. Feeling defeated by the bureaucracy?” </p><p>“Nope. I just found a reason to stay.” </p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Someone has to keep you out of the rain, Major.” </p><p>The smile Charles flashed at this lit the inside of the ambulance like sunshine.</p><p>End! </p><p>
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